Below is a transcript of my thoughts as I bought groceries and then gas.
At the grocery store:
This is a great. Just a couple more things and I’ll be done. Excuse me, dear lady, I’ll be wrapping up a couple of these apples as I begin the launch of the New Me. The slim, fit New Me. New Me likes apples.
Why is she staring at my basket? Did something weird make its way into my basket? Water, Diet Coke, chips. There’s nothing weird there. Why is she still staring? That’s just downright rude. How would you like it if I stared at your basket? Let’s see. (I start staring at her basket.)
Crap, she can’t see me staring at her basket because she’s too busy staring at my basket. Lady, don’t give me the sad look. I don’t have a sad basket. If there was nothing in there but booze, lotion, and the latest Teen Beat that would be sad. And scary. I would never buy that combination of things. I’m moving over to the plums and get away from this lady.
Plums, plums, plums, I like plums. Oooo, there’s a weird looking guy. I wonder what his story is. He’s only buying peanuts. Freak!
Damn, there’s another lady staring at my basket. Jeez, do I have newly-divorced guy written on the side of the basket? Did I get a different looking basket from everyone else? If so, that’s discrimination. I AM NOT A FAILURE! Why aren’t you looking at that weird guy buying peanuts? I got to get out of here.
At the gas station:
Oh great, there’s a guy buying gas on the other side of the pump. Now we’ll have to stand here while the pumps are going facing off like a couple of middle-aged gunslingers. There’s nothing you can do to make this situation less uncomfortable.
No hope of small talk here.
“Gas sure is expensive.”
“No shit, asshole. It has been for about 3 years now.”
Or
“Sure is nice weather now that the heat and humidity are gone, huh?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not gay.”
“What?!”
Yeah, I’ll just keep my trap shut and stand here with my sunglasses on pumping gas. God, we look like out-of-shape secret service guys.
I hate it when people stare at my basket. Grocery basket, I mean.
I never knew the power that could be had by simply staring at someone’s basket, I suddenly have the sick need to do so.
I once worked for a doctor in California who had a plum farm. One time he ate so many plums that he threatened to see patients in the bathroom. But I digress….maybe its not you, its her that has the problem.
I too, never buy booze, lotion, and the latest Teen Beat in combo. I buy them, at different times . . . and regularly.
As usual, the comments are just as good as the post.
I usually just reserve the grocery store stink-eye for people that leave their carts in the middle of the aisle while carefully combing over the labels of all 77 flavors of Cambell’s soup…..otherwise it’s eyes forward, stick and move, and get out as soon as possible